


New perspective

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: Best Friends, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butcher never realised just what was right in front of his nose, but when he and Sisky take a holiday in the Virgin Islands, he finally sees it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colouredmango](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=colouredmango).



Each sketch came out too much the same as the one before, and not in the sense of a coherent narrative, or even stylistic elements. They made Butcher uneasy, like he had discovered that his thumb no longer translated proportions properly. Not that _that_ was the problem, either. A technical issue: that would be okay, manageable, something he could work on. Instead, Andy lined all the sketches and half-finished canvases up and looked at them, walking up and down the lines and wondering where the fuck to go from here. When Sisky knocked at the door, calling out, "Butcher, let me in, I'm freezing," it was a welcome distraction.

Once inside, Adam shed his hat, scarf, gloves and puffy jacket, emerging from his cocoon with a string of muttered complaints. Butcher scowled as he watched Adam drop them on the floor in a hateful pile of down and insulation. Adam took one look at his face and did a comical double take. Andy smiled reluctantly.

"Man, maybe the snow isn't so scary after all," Sisky said. "What's got you tied in knots?"

"Art," said Andy. Adam shook his head, doing a reasonable impression of sorrow.

"What's wrong with your art, baby genius?" he asked, crossing over to stand next to Andy and stare down at the vague shapes on the canvas.

"It's boring," said Andy. "_Boring_." He turned his back on them and stared carefully at the wall so he wouldn't start tearing things up. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Can't I visit my Butcher without having an ulterior motive?" Adam asked, walking all the way round Andy exaggeratedly to stand in front of him. His affronted face was comical and Andy laughed in spite of himself. No one made him laugh like Adam did.

"No," Andy said, "it's kind of impossible."

"Fine," said Adam, "you're right. I'm going home for a bit to escape this hellish cold. I wanted to know if you wanted to come too."

"And by home you mean where, exactly?" Andy asked.

"The Islands," said Adam. He sounded a bit wistful. He'd spent years in the cold and Andy knew he hated it, particularly now with the band taking a break and nothing concrete to keep him here. Andy's heart ached a little at the thought of Adam feeling lost. Then he thought of the blue sea and sky, all the colour and light. It was just what he needed, too. He already felt better just thinking about it.

"Seriously? You have to _ask?_"

Adam laughed, hand brushing over Andy's elbow, lingering on a small patch of paint that had dried there. "No, I guess asking wasn't really necessary," he said.

"When do we leave?" asked Andy.

"Thursday," said Adam. "I'm going for six weeks, but you can come home sooner, if you want."

"I have nothing until this exhibition in three months," said Andy. His voice was light-hearted, covering up the fact that he missed band practice, the comforting routine of that and the knowledge that they would be touring soon. He felt wrong without it, off balance, but unable to correct enough to move on. The exhibition was fine, was something he'd always wanted, but it wasn't enough to keep him balanced. He knew Adam missed it too, and wouldn't be surprised if this holiday was mostly about trying to figure out what should happen next. The squeeze Adam gave his elbow was confirmation enough.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Andy faceplanted on a lounger in the back garden, ignoring the way it creaked in protest. His bones ached from flying and he still felt grimy and cramped. At least it was warm, gloriously, beautifully warm. He'd already shed his layers like an unwanted exoskeleton, leaving jeans and his shirt crumpled on the floor in the spare bedroom. He'd barely managed to pull on a pair of shorts for the trek outside.

"Jesus, do you want to start with sunburn?" asked Sisky as he wandered out with two drinks. He put them down on the table by Butcher's head and walked back inside. Andy watched him go, the flex of his bare feet on the smooth grey stones of the patio, and thought about his art. He'd left every single unsatisfactory line of graphite and charcoal stacked on his table with the canvases. He was going to start fresh, just as soon as he could muster the energy to get out of his lounge chair. Closing his eyes, he gave up the effort for the moment. He squeaked as a squirt of cold slime spread over his back, relaxing back into the cushioning as Adam squeezed on next to him, spreading the sticky sunscreen over his back.

Adam's hands always felt good on his skin, familiar after years of contact. Adam's calluses were something he knew and understood, and when he touched Andy, it felt like he had the right to. There was nothing tentative in it. Finally, he lifted off his hands and wiped them on a towel, smiling down at Butcher as he opened one eye and squinted up.

"I'm not getting your glasses for you too," he said. "Do the rest of you before you burn. We'll go down to the beach soon and wash off the day. Maybe have a smoke."

"Sounds good," said Andy. He levered himself up enough to take the sunscreen. It made the lounger shake and Sisky got off, lowering himself into the other chair and taking his drink. Andy couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, just his lips on the rim of his glass. He couldn't be sure if Adam was watching him or not as he smoothed the cream over his arms and chest, down his belly to the waistband of his shorts. He hoped he was, like Andy had sometimes caught him looking. He liked the weight of Adam's gaze; he always had. There was something about it that made him feel warm and centred. Leaning forward, he rubbed the sunscreen over his thighs and down his calves, over the tops of his feet. Finishing, he fished for the towel, rubbing off his palms before he reached for his glass. The sharpness of lime cut through his tiredness, the sweetness of the sugar and burn of the rum steadying him. He let the quiet of the moment sink into him. This had been a good idea.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

It remained a good idea. The days were languid and warm; they never needed more than a t-shirt in the evening and seldom bothered with long pants. Butcher took his sketchbooks with him everywhere, collecting images and ideas in lines and curves. He sometimes painted in the shade of the back garden, sometimes took his camera with them and snapped whatever he saw, little moments that caught his eye. At the end of a fortnight, something was nagging at him, though. He collected together all his papers and canvases, all his printed photographs, laying them out all over the cottage while Adam was in the shower.

They were good, vibrant and full of life. There was more art there than he'd managed to do in months, possibly the most visually creative he'd been in years. It was good to know that he wasn't stopping, wasn't blocked. But still, there was something about them that niggled at him, something he should be getting about the content or the composition. The elusiveness frustrated him. He looked at the images again, frowning as he started to see the pattern in them, the common features.

"They're good," said Adam. He was dripping on the hardwood floor, towel wrapped round his waist as he scrubbed at his hair with another. He sounded surprised, maybe a little wistful.

"They're about you," Andy said. He clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he realised what he'd said. Adam looked at him, then looked at the images scattered around the room. As he walked towards the largest one, the canvas that showed Adam's hand and the curve of his neck and shoulder, the line of his jaw and his arms from the side after swimming, Andy started to freak out. "I mean, not exactly, and what are you doing out of the shower anyway?" he asked. Sisky barely spared him a glance, looking instead at the painting, even though it wasn't anywhere near finished.

Andy cursed himself for not figuring out sooner what he'd done. He'd been watching Adam for a while, longer than this series of paintings, maybe since they'd first met. He'd never had the time and space, before, to put something like this in front of his nose and realise what had been going on. There were sketches that were playful, like the one of Sisky asleep on his deck chair, face distorted as seen through his empty glass. There were ones that were sweet, too, so cute and full of affection that they made Andy ache. Then there were a few that resonated with lust, barely acknowledged but so heavy and present in each stroke of the pen or brush; instantly recognisable now that Andy knew what he was looking for.

"Are they all about me?" Adam asked. Butcher considered lying, telling him that only a couple were of him, just the ones he couldn't come up with a better story for. But then he looked at Adam, taking in the wistful, hopeful look on his face. Andy remembered all the times he'd seen Adam looking at him, and thought that maybe, just maybe, it hadn't been mere appreciative regard. There might be more to it, if only Andy would take the chance.

"Yeah," he said. "All of them."

Adam met his gaze then, a sudden blaze of joy that made Andy's fingers itch for his pencils. He wanted to capture that look. It was unguarded and bright, almost fierce in its exultation. Andy couldn't help the quick tug of _want_ deep in his belly. He wanted to be the reason Adam smiled like that all the time. He wanted that smile to be the only thing Adam was wearing.

"I've been feeling so worthless," Adam said, hands describing a vague circle in the air. His towel slipped slightly on his hips and Andy couldn't help but look at the sharp rise of his bones. Fingers itching again, he wasn't sure if he wanted to capture that clean, tempting line, or if he wanted to drop to his knees and kiss along it. "But look, I'm a muse!" Adam continued. Andy jerked his eyes up and away from the sinful plane of Adam's belly. He felt hot and flustered, not sure how he'd managed to fall in fucking love with his best friend, and equally confused about how he'd not noticed for so long. "Andy?" Adam asked. His smile had faded again, leaving him looking uncertain. Butcher hated that look.

"Nothing's wrong," he said.

"No, what?" asked Adam. "Tell me." He moved forward, coming to stand in front of Andy, so close that Andy could see the water still beaded in patches on his collarbones. Andy couldn't help himself; he touched his fingertips to a wet section. Adam's breath caught and his eyes went wide for an instant. Andy tried to pull back and walk away before he ruined everything between them. Adam's fingers wrapped around his wrist and kept him close.

"Tell me," Adam said, "tell me I'm not wrong." Andy barely had time to open his mouth, much less decide what he was going to say, when Adam's lips touched his. It was sweet and hesitant and made Andy's breath catch. Sisky should never be tentative. He brought his free hand up to cradle the back of Adam's neck, shifting a little closer. Adam drew back and looked at him, a questioning lift to his brow.

"You're not wrong," said Andy. Adam heaved a breath of relief and Andy laughed softly at the unexpected sound. Laughing with him, Adam pushed Andy backwards until his shoulders hit the wall.

"You have no idea how long I have been thinking about this," Adam said. He didn't give Andy a chance to respond because this kiss was hotter, claiming and joyous both. Adam's fingers roamed over Andy's shoulders, down his arms and sweeping back up along his belly and chest. Each restless touch made Andy shift minutely, clinging and melting into the weight of Adam's body pinning him against the wall. It felt good to be held like this, to give in to the attraction he'd harboured for so long without even realising it.

Breaking the kiss, Adam pressed even closer and bit Butcher softly on the neck. He was breathing heavily and the fine tremor of his hands made Andy want to kiss each fingertip. Andy could feel Adam's cock through his towel, though, hard and tempting him. He slid down the wall, folding to his knees in front of Adam, hemmed in between him and the wall. He pressed kisses to Adam's sharp hipbones as he fumbled with the towel, peeling it back and discarding it before moving to suck Adam's cock into his mouth. He wanted to explore Adam later, but right now he wanted to taste and take, listening to Adam with deliberation for the first time. He felt greedy. Looking up to meet Adam's gaze, watching the convulsive movement of his throat as he swallowed hard, Andy felt oddly protective even though he was the one on his knees. He wanted to make this good, make this say all the things that had come out in his art without his conscious permission. He wanted to show his desire on purpose this time.

Adam didn't complain. He threaded one hand through Andy's hair, steadying himself against the wall with the other. Eyes blown dark, his face showed every shade of delight and pleasure as Andy sucked harder, taking him deeper. The swirl of Andy's tongue around the head made Adam gasp, the stroke of his fingers up and down Adam's inner thigh made him moan and jerk his hips slightly. Andy dug his fingers into Adam's thighs, urging him forward. He wanted that too, for Adam to lose himself in the moment, to fuck Andy's mouth and show that he wanted too, in a way that couldn't be mistaken.

"God, Andy, look so good for me," he said. "Fuck, I want." Adam's voice trailed off in a moan and a shaky inhalation. His fingers tightened in Andy's hair. His cock was heavy in Andy's mouth, smooth and hot on his tongue. The way Adam trembled made Andy suck harder, wanting to make Adam come hard so he could listen to him and feel him shudder apart. Adam's hips moved, tiny rocking motions that made him slide over Andy's lips perfectly. One hand braced on Adam's hip, Butcher used the other to circle the base of Adam's cock and stroke in counterpoint to the suction of his mouth. Andy was hard inside his shorts, fuck, he could get off on this, just with a little pressure. Adam twisted his fingers, tilting Andy's head to just the right angle for him and Andy moaned. Adam was unselfconsciously gorgeous, flushed pink across his cheeks and eyes closed. Andy didn't want to waste a moment he could be spending in contact with Adam, not even to get himself off. As if he'd heard Andy's thought, Adam opened his eyes, looking down and catching Andy's gaze.

"Don't come," he said. "Please, Andy, wait. I want." He looked beautiful, his cheeks staining darker pink as he asked for what he wanted. Andy moaned, the sound muffled. He wanted to come, skin itching and buzzing from impatient lust. He sucked harder, listening to the beautiful noises spilling from Adam's mouth. He could tell Adam was close from the tremble of his thighs, the shake in his voice as he said Andy's name. Each repetition twisted Andy tighter, racheting up the urge to shove his hand down his own pants and come hard, even as he swallowed around Adam and listened to him come apart. Adam jerked on Andy's hair, tugging him back at the last minute. He came into Butcher's hand with a groan.

Andy swallowed hard as he looked up at Adam, still looming above him on unsteady legs. His eyes were closed tight and he looked sinfully wrecked. Andy wiped his hand off on the discarded towel.

"Adam, please, what do you want?" Andy asked. His voice was low and cracked with an unashamed note of begging to it. "Please, I need to come."

Slithering to his knees, Adam leaned forward and pressed his hand over Andy's cock through his shorts. Andy jerked into the pressure, knocking his head against the wall with a curse. Adam kissed his jaw before moving down to kiss and lick over Andy's chest, following the lines of his Thunderbird.

"Fuck, Adam," Andy panted. Adam's hand wormed under the waistband, tugging awkwardly on the elastic and getting it down enough to get a proper grip. Dimly, Andy knew he was the one making the harsh sobbing noise on each stroke, but he didn't care. This was Adam in front of him, the kid he'd looked after and laughed with, his best friend, and this was the best thing he'd ever felt. His orgasm ripped through him, from his spine and belly out, seeming to peak in long, shuddering waves of bliss, hot and fierce.

Fumbling his fingers into Adam's hair as Adam wiped off his hand, Andy dragged him forward into a messy, desperate kiss. The feeling inside him seemed too big, now that he'd put a name to it. He couldn't get his mind round it, not now that he wasn't half-drugged on lust, or lost in art. Adam's fingers on his shoulders were still shaking and Butcher felt less alone and overwhelmed.

"Bed?" Adam asked, gasped really, into Andy's neck.

"Yeah," said Andy, reluctant to let go. Adam pulled him up after him, keeping them in contact. He couldn't seem to stop touching, and it soothed something in Andy, letting him breathe easier as they went to Adam's room, slow footsteps through the quiet house to his room and the hum of the ceiling fan. Adam curled into him on the bed and they lay there for long minutes, twisted together and stroking slowly over each other's skin. The urgent, restless feeling under Andy's skin faded, leaving him with a clear narrative, a path he could follow back to see the beginnings of how he'd got here, and the stretch in front of them, just enough room for two sets of feet. Andy knew what the next picture in his series would be.


End file.
